


menthea

by s_coups



Series: lilacism / menthea [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-03-10 03:43:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18930586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_coups/pseuds/s_coups
Summary: think: cool breezes, bustling cities, linen sheets, warm palms, and comfortable routine. think: gentle smiles, sun-kissed skin, a quick pulse beneath the jaw, and a place to call home. think: yuta.orlilacism, as told by doyoung.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dashirun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashirun/gifts).



> me:  
> my brain: lilacism but from doyoungs pov  
> me: AH SHIT, HERE WE GO AGAIN

Doyoung would consider himself a patient man.

His mother used to say that as a child, he couldn’t wait for anything. She said that she had once told him she was going to make his favorite dish for dinner, and he had spent all day pacing the kitchen ruthlessly, demanding she join him and begin cooking it as soon as possible. He doesn’t believe he’s like that anymore, although he doesn’t doubt he gave his mother a fair share of trouble as a child.

Now, however, Doyoung’s patience has run thin. He had been scouring the mountains for weeks, searching for something,  _ anything _ substantial enough to quench his thirst. A bear, or a wolf, even. His searches had turned up fruitless, and he had even gone as far as slinking through the streets of Perm at night, hoping for a drunken, lone stranger to stumble into his line of sight. Again, it was to no success, and Doyoung was beginning to feel the effects of hunger curl deep in his bones. It ripped at the flesh of his stomach like something he’d never known as a human, but known too many times as… this. This blasphemous thing. It kicked and screamed and refused to let him do anything but hunt, hunt,  _ hunt,  _ even if he was too weak to catch anything. 

He doesn’t know how he’s ended up in Moscow. It was far, far from the mountains, and he knew logically that he shouldn’t be there. Perm was one thing- it was a large city, but not large enough that rumor would spread as quickly of a vampire in the streets as it would in Moscow. As it  _ has  _ in Moscow, because there are flyers out for him. Doyoung spots them at night, plastered over old brick buildings, neon yellow and blinding even in the dark. Printed with an image of a vampire from the eighties, and big letters stating there was a vampire loose. Contact the authorities if spotted. A reward was available if caught. Doyoung’s stomach had tightened considerably at these posters, but he was too deep, already in the seventh district, and there was no way he was getting out of the city without feeding.

This is how Doyoung finds himself being followed, only a few nights into his dilemma. He had stumbled near a bar in the early hours of the evening, his reflexes too slow and too clumsy to be hidden. A handful of men, who were jostling each other drunkenly and laughing boisterously as they exited the bar, spotted him just as he bared his teeth in pain from his stumble, and it all went downhill from there.

Now they were following him through the windy streets, and Doyoung was panicking. He doesn’t panic often; hasn’t panicked at all since he had finally laid Lena to rest over sixty years ago. Hasn’t felt much of anything, since then.

He makes a wrong turn, and he stupidly finds himself in an alley. He’s cornered, and the men are approaching him now. One of them is holding one of those damned yellow flyers, and another one is pulling a switchblade out of his pocket. Fuck.  _ Fuck _ . As they approach him, he has vivid memories of the morning after Lena had turned him, and he had been surrounded by Japanese soldiers. He had been just as hungry, then, but more frightened. Hadn’t known what that hunger was exactly, or why he felt so much strength thrumming beneath his skin, lighting up his veins.

Now he knows what that hunger is, and how much strength he has, but he’s powerless to use it, too weak. He flinches violently when one of the men lurches forward closer to him, and he can hear them laughing.

“Hey, mosquito,” One of them growls, words slurring but still coming out with enough heat that Doyoung feels the threat of them. “Did you think you were gonna eat tonight?”

“Need a drink?” Another one of them jokes, and there’s an uproar of laughter from the others. Something splashes on him, cold and acidic. He thinks it’s vodka, but he’s using most of his strength to shrink into his coat, covering his face with both hands in a desperate attempt to keep them from aiming for his face, or throat.

“Your kind aren’t welcome in my city,” The first one snarls again. “Should all be wiped out, I think.”

“Do the public a favor!” One of them jeers, egging the one with the knife on. “Keep the city safe!”

Doyoung almost wants to laugh at the irony that the drunken men brandishing a knife at a stranger were the ones necessitating for public safety. He would laugh, if he weren’t terrified for his life right now.

It happens quickly, and it hurts, because no matter what humans believe, vampires still feel pain. Doyoung, at least, still feels pain, and he thinks it’s justified to cry out when someone slashes at your chest with a knife several times in succession.

He makes a noise that’s akin to a wail, but sounds more animalistic, like the dying throes of a fawn that’s been hit by a car. The men seem to be satisfied with their work, because after spitting out a few more terrible remarks, they stumble off.

Leaving Doyoung in the darkness of the alley, blood seeping through his sweater and coat and all over his hands.

One of Doyoung’s first thoughts is,  _ Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could drink my own blood? I wouldn’t be in this situation. _

His second thought is,  _ I don’t have enough energy to heal this. _

And his third thought is,  _ I am going to die. _

A violent shiver wracks his body, and Doyoung suddenly wishes for his mother. For her warm embrace. He wishes he had never snuck out that night, after everyone had washed up and gone to sleep, to meet Lena. He would be happily dead by now. He would have seen his sister grow up. He would have been able to hug his mother so many, many times. 

He’s not sure how long he slumps there, huddled against the wall, wallowing in his own self-pity and blood. The blood doesn’t seem to stop, and he almost wants to get angry, because if he hadn’t fed in weeks, how did he have so much blood in his body? Why was this death so dragged out? It was unfair of the Devil to make his monsters suffer like this.

“Hello?” 

Doyoung’s heart, which had been silent for decades, picks up tenfold in his dying breaths, his whole body seizing up in panic at the idea that the men had returned to finish him off for good. He tries to curl into himself, make himself seem smaller, or make himself look dead. Whichever one got rid of them.

The man standing in the entrance of the alley instead switches to English, and although broken, there was no slur to his words, a clear indication he wasn’t drunk. Doyoung doesn’t speak English, and so it just sounds like noise to him, and any noise was a threat in this situation.

The man takes a step forward, and Doyoung can’t help the terrified whimper he lets out, so pathetic and small. The man holds up his hands in the sign of surrender, and Doyoung tries his best to tug at his coat, to cover his wounds more adequately and not let this new stranger see he was wounded and dying. 

The man curses, and he does it in Korean. It takes Doyoung’s brain a moment to understand it, because it’s been  _ so long  _ since he’s heard someone speak Korean to him. He misses it, the curl of his mother tongue, and he scrambles to get his thoughts in order, wanting desperately to respond, but he can’t seem to find his voice.

The man is speaking rapidly into his cell phone now, gesturing his hands wildly through the air. Doyoung hears the words  _ help, dying,  _ and  _ bleeding.  _ Was he calling for help? Was this man trying to help him?

A car creeps by on the street behind the man, and the headlights flash momentarily, flooding the alleyway with bright white light. It illuminates behind the man, a perfect halo around his body, like an angel from the stained glass windows of churches he used to see as a child. Doyoung opens his mouth to speak, or even just mouth something to the man, desperate to communicate now that he knows the man wants to help him.

_ “Vampire,”  _ The man suddenly gasps into the phone, and Doyoung almost flinches back. “Vampire, it’s a vampire. It’s not a person,  _ Ten _ .”

It would seem the stranger had thought he was gathering help for a human, but at this point, Doyoung’s lost all sense of pride he might’ve had. The blood soaking his clothes was getting cold, and if he could cry, he would.

“Help,” He whispers, but his voice doesn’t seem to work, and he just mouths it stupidly. The man frowns, holding his phone a few inches from his ear as the person on the other end screams at him in Korean, and takes a step forward. Doyoung doesn’t back down, no matter how hard he trembles in fear, and instead clears his throat as best he can, repeating,  _ “Help.” _

“Don’t call the cops!” The man shrieks into his phone suddenly, and if Doyoung had the energy, he would’ve jump in surprise. “It’s not. It’s scared.”

The person on the other end of the line screams at him so loudly Doyoung can hear it, although the static doesn’t allow him to understand what he says.

“But it’s hurt!” The man exclaims, and when the screaming continues on the other line, he promptly hangs up, plunging them into silence. 

The man keeps his hands held up in surrender, an offer of peace that Doyoung gratefully accepts, even if it was lousy at best. He could still turn around and kill Doyoung if he wanted, or call the authorities on him, but as he approaches, Doyoung finds he doesn’t have the energy in him to care. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” The man says, slowly, and Doyoung just blinks at him. His hands are going numb, and each breath is like scratch through his lungs. 

The man holds out a hand, offering it to Doyoung. Doyoung can only stare, still unsure if this was a ploy or not. The man holds steady eye contact with him, a significant feat, considering Doyoung’s eyes were probably bright red, and he was coated in his own blood.

It’s either die, or trust this man.

Doyoung decides to go with the latter, and he takes his hand. The warmth of the man’s skin and the rush of blood thrumming beneath makes Doyoung feel dizzy, and he finds he can’t move from his place for a moment, frozen and starving.

The man tugs at Doyoung uselessly, clearly using all of his strength to lift the vampire to no avail. Doyoung can’t help but raise an eyebrow, amused, and the man pouts at him much like a child would.

“Don’t laugh,” He whines. Doyoung takes pity on him and does his best to stand, his legs weak and giving out almost immediately beneath him. The man catches all of his weight on his hip, hooking an arm around Doyoung and heaving him to his feet. The sudden rush up from the ground has Doyoung feeling dizzy, and he blacks out, head lolling over onto the man’s shoulder.

 

Doyoung opens his eyes to warmth.

There’s a fire crackling a few feet away. He smells pine and men’s cologne, and something else that was familiar and gentle, but he couldn’t quite place. His chest no longer ached, and when his eyes flicker open, he finds himself in an unknown room, laying on the wood floor. His shirt and coat had been discarded, and his chest was fully healed, it’s only remnants the drying blood along his skin.

Hovering above him was the man from the alley. The one who had saved him. That was the only way Doyoung could describe it- he had saved him from certain death. Doyoung’s chest does something strange he hasn’t felt in a century.

The man had been touching his chin, and his thumb rested on Doyoung’s lip, curious and asking permission. Doyoung feels frozen in place, their gazes locked, and that’s when it hits him.

Like a horrible, horrible avalanche, sweeping down the mountain and devouring everything in its path. Like a building in a fire, smoldering and crumbling into itself. Like a tornado, looping over and over and ripping the very earth from its roots. It starts on his chin, where the man touches him, and travels through him in ripples, warm and tingling and  _ so much _ . It’s too much for his weak heart, for his weak stomach that’s still clawing at the skin to be fed. He bares his teeth for the man, wants so badly to taste him, for his blood to be coursing through Doyoung’s veins.  _ Mine, mine, mine,  _ something vicious and terrible snarls in his chest.  _ Mine, he’s mine. _

The man presses the pad of his thumb against one of Doyoung’s fangs, and a pinprick of blood leaks out. The man pulls his hand away too quickly, and Doyoung closes his mouth, eyes following the blood as it’s taken away from him. He feels dizzy, and it’s too much for him. He feels too much.

Footsteps sound in the hallway, and as the man glances in it’s direction, Doyoung spirals into darkness, that vicious little thing still roaring in his chest,  _ mine, mine, mine, mine.  _


	2. Chapter 2

When Doyoung awakens, it is to sheer panic when he finds the man is no longer in the room with him.

Doyoung himself is on the sofa, with a soft, worn blanket tucked in neatly over him. He’s overwhelmed with fresh new scents, his nose wrinkling at them all- the woodsy, subtle scent of the fireplace ashes still burning from last night, the copper scent of his own blood seeped into the hardwood floors, the fresh linen scent of the blanket. He thinks he smells another animal in the apartment, as well, but his instincts are overpowered by the scent of the man from last night.

It’s a very specific smell, something Doyoung would be able to pinpoint in a crowd of thousands. It lures him in like a siren call, and he, helpless, can’t stop himself as he throws the blanket off himself and gets to his feet, following the scent down the hall. It leads him to a bedroom, and when he pushes the door open wider, he finds the man sound asleep. He’s tucked beneath three blankets, snoring softly, and a small white cat is curled beside his head on his pillow, purring. The man doesn’t stir at all when Doyoung opens the door (why would he? Doyoung makes absolutely no noise), but the cat does, it’s big blue eyes snapping open the moment Doyoung peers into the room.

Doyoung holds the cats eyes, weary. When he was a child, there were a few stray cats in his neighborhood, but they were always mean and he rarely saw them. He’d encountered many wild cats in the mountains- from bobcats to sibarian tigers- but they always made him feel just a bit nervous. There was something about cats that made him feel like they could tell he was a predator, that he wasn’t like other humans, and they wanted to take him down. 

This cat, however, simply yawns widely and stretches it’s tiny paws out, just barely brushing the sleeping man’s hair. The man’s nose twitches in his sleep, and he rolls onto his other side. Doyoung’s panic is subdued just a little seeing the man safe and asleep, and still within Doyoung’s vicinity.

He turns on his heel to head back to the living room, and he’s about to shut the door when the cat seemingly appears out of nowhere at his feet, winding between his legs and meowing loudly.

“Shh,” He hisses, glaring at it. “You’ll wake him.” 

The cat doesn’t seem to care about that, because it continues following him down the hall, meowing just as loudly and almost tripping Doyoung as it pads between his feet.

He’s sitting on the sofa, staring down at the cat and trying to decipher what it’s yowling meant when he catches a whiff of the man’s scent, and he snaps his head up to find the man entering the room. He looks wary and sleep-deprived, dark splotches under his eyes and a furrow in his brow as he watches at Doyoung. Doyoung wants to reach out and smooth it down.

“Hello,” The man finally says, voice gentle like he were speaking to a frightened animal. Doyoung holds stock still, the scent of the man making the blood in his veins sing as he moves closer. “You speak Korean, right?”

Doyoung nods, not trusting himself to speak. Afraid his voice will come out gravelly and dark, will startle the man.

“What’s your name?”

Doyoung has to press his lips together and take a moment to gather his thoughts, to keep his eyes trained on the cat and not on the man’s neck, or his lips “Doyoung,” He finally answers, voice tight.

“I’m Yuta,” The man replies, some of his concern ebbing away at the fact he now knows Doyoung’s name. He sits down gracefully on the floor, calling,  _ ‘Momo”  _ to the cat, and looking delighted when it trots happily towards him. “What part of Korea are you from?”

Doyoung is still staring at the cat, and he has to think before he answers, because the name is rattling around in his head.  _ Yuta, Yuta, Yuta _ . That doesn’t sound Korean. Japanese, maybe. “Rason,” Doyoung says, and he can feel his jaw tightening when he notices the cat, Momo, curling it’s claws into Yuta’s leg. It’s just a cat, but Doyoung wants to pick it up and throw it out the window for hurting Yuta.

“Where is that?”

“Eight hundred and fifty seven point two kilometers northeast of Pyongyang.”

Yuta’s head snaps up, and he looks shocked. “Pyongyang? You’re from North Korea?” 

Doyoung nods, still watching Momo. He wants to ask why Yuta is letting the cat sit on him when it was so obviously uncomfortable, the claws still pawing at his thighs, but what comes out is, “Why is it sitting on you?” 

_ Very astute,  _ A mean little voice says in his head.  _ Stupid.  _

“What do you mean?” Yuta asks, stroking Momo’s head softly, and Doyoung has a horrible, twisting thought that he wishes Yuta would pet his head like that. He doesn’t like it. It makes him feel desperate and unsure.

“Why isn’t it scared? You’re much larger than it,” Doyoung explains. Really, he just wants this cat out of the room, and if he has to pretend like he doesn’t understand what a cat is, he’ll say whatever. It was making him nervous, blinking at him with it’s large blue eyes. “You could kill it.”

“I wouldn’t kill her. She trusts me.” 

Doyoung can’t help but meet Yuta’s gaze. Cats don’t trust anyone. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does she trust you?”

“Because I take care of her, and I love her.”

Doyoung doesn’t understand why Yuta can’t see that this isn’t a two way relationship. The cat just seems to scratch him, and he dotes on it. “Why do you take care of her?”

Yuta huffs, looking a bit annoyed, and it’s probably the cutest thing Doyoung has ever seen. It leaves him feeling dazed, just barely hearing Yuta’s response.

“That’s not biologically safe,” Doyoung murmurs, half talking about the cat, half about how his fingertips were tingling strangely the more he looked at Yuta.

Footsteps sound in the hallway, a fresh scent drifting into the room, and they both look up in time to find another man entering. Doyoung was so distracted by Yuta’s scent he didn’t even realize there was still another person in the apartment.

The man doesn’t pay any notice to them until he’s almost halfway across the floor, at which point he turns to face Doyoung abruptly, almost like he was startled to find other people in the room. 

“Fuck,” He finally heaves out, looking a bit distressed. “I was hoping last night was just a stress dream.” He glances down at the wood floor, at a dark spot where Doyoung’s blood had sunk into the boards and stained it. “There’s no way I’m getting my deposit back from the landlord. She’s gonna kill me.”

“It’s Russia, there’s basically no laws here anyway,” Yuta says, smiling at the man, and Doyoung’s stomach twists strangely.  _ Don’t smile at him,  _ The little voice snaps in his head.  _ Only smile at me.  _ “I’m sure she’s seen blood stains before.”

The man glares at Yuta. “First of all, rude, you xenophobe. Second of all, it’s not your deposit, is it? So, shut up.”

Yuta clasps at his chest in mock horror. “Me? Xenophobe? I’ll have you know there is a North Korean right here in your living room. Show some respect.”

The man gives Yuta a scathing look, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. “Fuck it, I’m not even going to ask.”

He disappears into the kitchen, and Momo leaps up from Yuta’s lap and trots after the man happily. Yuta gives the cat a sad look, collapsing dramatically to the floor.

“Traitor!” He calls after her. “I gave you everything.” 

Doyoung watches Yuta stretch lazily, sweater riding up his stomach, limbs lifting off the floor as his joints crack satisfyingly. Yuta has his eyes closed, and now that the man and the cat have left the room, his scent is all the more potent, and it makes Doyoung feel dizzy.

He doesn’t think about it. He gets to the floor and crawls over to Yuta, kneeling beside him. When Yuta rolls over and opens his eyes, he startles, and the tip of his elbow just barely brushes against Doyoung’s knee, sending sparks through his body.

“Um,” Yuta begins, slowly. “Hello.”

Doyoung says nothing. Really, he’s trying to figure out if Yuta can feel it, too. This electric thing between them, crackling through Doyoung and making him feel like he needs to claim Yuta. He cringes internally at the phrase;  _ claim  _ sounds so barbaric, but it’s the only word that fits the possessive feelings snarling in his head as he watches Yuta stretch again, spine popping into place. He lets out a little contented sigh, and Doyoung wants to just eat him up.

He reaches out then, just to touch, because  _ God, _ it was like being given the sweetest dessert and being told he couldn’t have it. He just wants to touch, feel the soft, warm skin, pliant under his fingertips, feel the heartbeat racing beneath. 

Yuta holds still, like a good boy, watching Doyoung warily. In the back of his mind, Doyoung tells himself Yuta’s probably frightened of him. Scared that he was going to attack. 

He’s so caught up in his thoughts and the sensation of warm skin under his hand he jerks in surprise when Yuta clears his throat, brow raising.

“See something you like?” Yuta jokes, trying to make light, and Doyoung would be impressed that he was so calm in this situation but when he speaks Doyoung’s fingers dip deeper against his jaw, and he can feel the pulse hammering a few inches below. Yuta stays still beneath him, compliant as Doyoung takes what he feels he deserves; only to touch. He can’t taste, can’t take that without permission.

Yuta suddenly tilts his head back just the slightest, exposing more of his throat. It’s like watching prey submit before its dying throes, and Doyoung can feel something rumbling in his chest, animalistic and dark.

Something clatters in the kitchen, and the man, who Doyoung had forgotten about completely, grumbles something in Russian. Yuta startles at the noise, and Doyoung pulls back as well, trying to collect himself and ignore the slight flush that was spreading over Yuta’s cheeks.

 

The man disappears into the cold outside the apartment a few hours later, telling Yuta to get rid of Doyoung, like he was a stray cat. Doyoung tries not to linger around Yuta like a nervous mother, but it’s hard, because in less than 24 hours he’s begun to consume Doyoung’s every thought.

He hears Yuta groan as though in pain, and he rushes to the bedroom to find the man collapsed on top of the sheets of his bed, looking distressed. Doyoung perches on the edge of the bed, trying his best not to reach out to touch; tries to look normal.

“Are you okay?” He asks, voice gentle, and Yuta sighs and rubs his eyes.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna get you home,” He explains.

Doyoung frowns. There were two problems with that; one, Doyoung doesn’t have a home. The last home he had was his own in Rason almost a hundred years ago, and since then, he’s mostly drifted around Russia and Serbia, occasionally stepping into China if he felt he needed to get away from the cold for a bit. 

The second problem was that Doyoung absolutely, one hundred percent, did not want to go anywhere that Yuta was not. Wherever Yuta called home, is where Doyoung calls home, now.

“Home,” Doyoung repeats, voice lost in his throat as he mulls this thought over. 

“Yeah, home,” Yuta says. He sits up quickly. “Are you from the Ural mountains?  That’s really far and I’m broke as shit, I can’t fly us there and a train takes way too long.”

“Fly?” Doyoung repeats. He had never been on an airplane, and he didn’t really plan on stepping on one anytime soon. The first time he had seen one was when he was young, and still in North Korea, and the Japanese pilots had landed them in Pyongyang. He doesn’t like to think about that time.

“Yeah, fly. Like an airplane. Don’t tell me you don’t know what airplanes are?” 

_ I’m a vampire, not an idiot.  _ “Home is Rason,” He finally replies, voice quiet. He hopes Yuta understands. He hopes he gets the hints that he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. 

Yuta snorts. “In North Korea? Good luck getting in there.” 

Doyoung looks up, giving Yuta his best sad eyes look. It seems to work, because Yuta looks like he scrambles to cover up his words, worry evident in his features.

“I- uh. Where’s your family? Your mother?”

That hurts. It might’ve been a hundred years since he’s seen her, but it still feels like a thorn in his heart whenever he thinks of his mother. He twists his fingers together and looks down at his hands. “I don’t know.”  _ Dead, definitely,  _ He thinks. _ I don’t know where she’s buried, though. Or how she even died. _

“Well, you must’ve come from somewhere. You weren’t in Moscow your whole life.”

Doyoung glances up to meet Yuta’s gaze, suddenly hopeful, seeing opportunity to learn more about him. “Are you from Moscow?”

_ Stupid question,  _ That mean little voice in his head snaps at him.  _ He speaks fluent Korean. How many Koreans are in Moscow? _

Yuta laughs, a lovely little sound. “No, are you kidding? It’s cold as shit here. I’m from Seoul. Well, actually, I was born in Osaka, but I live in Seoul.” 

Doyoung nods.  _ Seoul.  _ That wasn’t too bad. He could get to Seoul, if or when Yuta goes back. He could get there in two or three days, tops, if he needed. Less, if he feeds soon. 

Speaking of which.

“Yuta.”

“Hm?”

“I’m hungry.”

The bed dips as Momo hops on to join them. She rubs against Doyoung’s arm, purring loudly, and Doyoung gently pushes her away, eyes glued to Yuta’s face as the man begins rambling, clearly not understanding the implication what Doyoung had said.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I can make you ramen or something. I’m not a good cook but I know how-” Yuta cuts himself off, suddenly look up to meet Doyoung’s gaze. Doyoung can practically see the gears working in his head as he puts two and two together. “You’re… hungry.”

Doyoung nods. “I can get out of Moscow myself, but I lost a lot of blood last night. I need to feed.”

Momo meows needily beside him, rubbing her face against his elbow. The silence is thick and delicate, like it might shatter with one wrong word.

“Do you- Do you need… If you want me to, I can… help…?”

If Doyoung had a heartbeat, it would pick up tenfold. He looks at Yuta, incredulous, mostly because he can’t believe Yuta was so quick to offer himself up. Because he doesn’t even realize what he’s offering Doyoung.

“Are you sure?” Doyoung asks, slowly. He can give Yuta an out. He can let him run away. The possessive thing in his chest is already baring its teeth.

Yuta nods, eyes looking a little glassy. “Yeah, I mean, if you’re hungry, you’re hungry. Just, like… don’t take too much?”

It’s as much of a yes as Doyoung needs. He tries not to move too quickly, doesn’t want to surprise Yuta too much, but it proves to be extremely difficult now that he’s got consent and he’s got Yuta right there, smelling so wonderful and looking so delectable. His blood is singing beneath his skin, calling out to Doyoung, and when Doyoung pins Yuta down, settling in his lap, the fact that Yuta doesn’t even look  _ that  _ startled, just gets him more excited.

He can hear Yuta’s heart skip a beat, and he leans down to press his fingers firmly against Yuta’s jaw, tilting it to the side so he has easier access to the man’s throat.

“Just relax,” He murmurs, teeth already sliding out. “It won’t hurt.”

Yuta swallows visibly. Doyoung leans down to scent his neck, nose brushing along the warm skin. His scent is powerful and heady here, overwhelming Doyoung in the best possible way.

Yuta shivers, and Doyoung bites him before he can have any second thoughts. 

That monster in his chest is snarling  _ mine, mine, mine _ on loop the moment Yuta’s blood touches his tongue, and he feels like he’s losing control, slipping off a dangerous slope. He can feel Yuta wince, and he keeps him held down with a hand on his wrists, not wanting to risk having the man pull away before he gets his fill. Drinking someone’s blood has never made him feel this euphoric before, never filled him up with such a white noise rush of peacefulness, made him feel complete. 

Briefly, in the back of his mind, he thinks about something Lena had once said to him about soulmates. He thinks this is what she meant, even if she was lying about being his back then.

Yuta is melting beneath him, body starting to go slack and eyes looking faraway. The possessive thing inside him is demanding he keep his fangs latched onto Yuta’s neck until they leave permanent marks, indications to anyone else, vampire or human, that Yuta belongs to  _ Doyoung  _ and only him. But the rational part of his brain knows Yuta won’t be able to take much more blood loss, and he’s going to faint soon, so it’s with great reluctance he unhooks his fangs from Yuta’s skin and pulls away. 

He licks gently at the wound, half to heal it, half so he can taste Yuta on his tongue for just a little bit longer. Yuta makes a noise that sounds like a protest when Doyoung pulls away completely, like he doesn’t want Doyoung to stop, and it makes the vampire want to laugh. If only he knew.

Yuta looks much further gone than Doyoung had anticipated, and he’s flooded with worry when he meets Yuta’s half-lidded gaze and the man looks at him with cloudy eyes. 

Sugar. He needs sugar. 

“Do you have any juice?” Doyoung asks, slowly, hoping Yuta is coherent enough to understand him.

“In the fridge, I think,” He mumbles, voice raspy, and Doyoung is off the bed in seconds to retrieve it, patting Yuta’s shoulder gently.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” 

He’s only gone a few seconds, but when he returns to the bedroom, Yuta has fallen asleep, looking serene and peaceful, and Momo is curled at the foot of the bed. 

She gives Doyoung a pointed look with her big blue eyes, almost like she’s judging him, and he winks at her, flashing his fangs.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is now a matching playlist for menthea! you can listen to it [here on spotify.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1ea7pkBIcX61TZ18ubi9zO?si=I6KRhm9nSt6Q2zqMdltPoA)
> 
> i apologize for the wait for an update, i just moved and started uni so it's been difficult for me to find time to write. :(

Yuta breathes out slow and steady in his sleep, and Doyoung watches him, and waits, and wonders how it’s possible for someone to be so beautiful, and for him to be so enamoured so quickly.

Yuta had simply blinked in his direction, offered him the slightest bit of kindness, and Doyoung was hooked like a man with a crippling addiction. Even now, as he waits for Yuta to wake, something pulls inside him, like a hook around his heart, urging him to be closer to the man, to hover over him protectively and rip out the throat of anyone who dares even look at him.

The feelings are too fervent, too passionate, and Doyoung has to close his eyes and inhale through his nose to get himself under control. His thoughts were straying to places he was afraid of going.

The pull tugs softly, and he opens his eyes slowly to find Yuta awake, watching him. The man looks embarrassed to be caught, flushing pink, and Doyoung bites back a smile.

“You’re awake,” He says, when he gets his voice under control, and Yuta shivers and nods. Doyoung feels a strange tingle up his spine at the little movement.

“Yeah,” Yuta says. “Why’s it so freaking cold?”

Doyoung tilts his head in the direction of the window he had opened once Yuta had fallen asleep. Yuta looks startled, whipping around to look at Doyoung, rubbing the sleep out of one of his eyes with his palm. 

“Why’d you do that?”

“You were overheating,” Doyoung explains. “Your face was very red when I came back with juice for you,” A wicked thought comes to his head, and he tacks on, “I think you fainted.”

Yuta sits up quickly, looking embarrassed again, and all the blood rushes from his head at the  sudden movement. Doyoung can feel his nose twitching, the sharp scent singeing his nostrils like flames. “I fainted?”

Doyoung shrugs, trying his very best to look nonchalant. There’s very little possibility Yuta had fainted; most likely he had just fallen asleep from the rush of hormones the feeding had caused him. Oxytocin, and all that. Doyoung had read a book on it once. But it’s much more fun to let Yuta believe Doyoung had quite literally rendered him unconscious. “It happens sometimes. Humans are very sensitive beings.” 

Yuta lets out a noise like he’s choked on air, cheeks tinting red. “Shut up!”

Doyoung can’t help but smile. The moment is cut entirely too short by the sound of the door opening, and the other human being returning home with an angry shout, no doubt about the freezing temperature of the apartment. 

 

The other man’s name is Ten, and Doyoung feels uneasy around him. If he weren’t absolutely sure both men were human, Doyoung might wonder if Ten was a vampire. He has incredibly sharp eyes, and he watches Doyoung all evening- Doyoung can’t see any emotion or secrets the few times he briefly meets Ten’s gaze, and it makes him feel like he’s tilting off his axis. He can’t pinpoint _why_ Ten is watching him. Is he cataloguing data? Watching how he moves? Looking for a weakness? Preparing to attack? Doyoung doesn’t _know_ , and the feeling of Ten’s eyes piercing the side of his face all evening makes his skin prickle. 

It turns out Ten was putting two and two together, because when the two sit down for dinner, Ten leaps to his feet dramatically, gasping out, “He fed from you!”, and Doyoung’s heart feels like it’s fallen into his stomach.

The two dissolve into an argument, and Doyoung just knows where this is going. Ten was going to call the police. Doyoung was going to be arrested, or killed on sight, or worse. He had let his hunger get the best of him, had let his guard down and hadn’t fled after feeding, had let his feelings-

“No, you fucking won’t,” Yuta suddenly snarls, and Doyoung’s thoughts stop short, his mind blanking out.

_What?_

“What?” Ten laughs, a little viciously, as though he couldn’t understand what was happening, either.

“You’re not gonna call the fucking police,” Yuta gets out between gritted teeth. “What’s wrong with you? You’re really that cruel a person?” 

Doyoung’s hands feel like they’re trembling, and he has to stop himself from tearing out his own heart and laying it at Yuta’s feet. 

“Are you kidding me?” Ten snaps. “He could’ve _killed_ you.”

 _I would never hurt Yuta,_ Doyoung wants to scream, throat dry and empty, voice lost in his chest. _I’d sooner kill myself._

Yuta glares at his friend. “But he _didn’t_. I’m right fucking here, and I don’t need you to tell me whether I’m okay or not.”

Doyoung feels a little dazed. He’s pretty sure this is what falling in love is like, although he’s not sure it’s supposed to happen this quickly. His hands are definitely trembling.

Yuta takes a step away from them both, towards the kitchen. The tension in the room shifts to something quiet, uncomfortable. Doyoung can tell the two men don’t fight like this often, and suddenly he feels sick, like he’s put a significant rift between such an important relationship in Yuta’s life.

“I’m going to go,” Yuta says, softly. 

Ten looks surprised. “Go?” He echoes.

“Yeah. Go. I’m gonna go home. In return, don’t call the police. Just let him go, too.”

Home? Home for Yuta wasn’t Moscow. Home for Yuta was somewhere far away, in Seoul. Away from Doyoung. Doyoung didn’t want to go. 

Ten looks like he’s just as upset at the idea of Yuta leaving, brow furrowing. “But your flight isn’t for another few days…”

Yuta doesn’t respond, instead reaching for his still full plate of food from the table and disappearing into the kitchen. 

Ten whips his head around to look at Doyoung, and when Doyoung meets his gaze, he’s met with such a withering, murderously angry look that it almost makes him take a step back as well.

It lasts all of a second before Ten is turning on his heel and storming into his bedroom, the door slamming noisily behind him. The room is plunged into silence, and Doyoung is left with his mind spinning, staring at the kitchen where Yuta’s back was to him. It felt like all his thoughts were whirling around in a hurricane, leaving him struggling to grasp just one and get himself under control.

Yuta comes back out to retrieve Ten’s dish before Doyoung can stop staring and process what he would like to say,  and by the time he does, Yuta is snapping, “ _What?”_ at him.

Doyoung startles, and follows Yuta into the kitchen this time, standing a solid arms length away. Far, but not too far. Close, but not too close.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Doyoung finally says, when he finds his voice.

Yuta’s eyebrow quirks. “Do what?”

Doyoung gestures towards the hallway, hoping that was enough indication as to what he was referring to. “He was right to be angry. I could have killed you.”

 _I’m dangerous,_ Doyoung follows up, the words not quite coming out right and getting stuck in his throat. _I’m a monster,_ and _I hurt people,_ and _You’re incredible,_ and _Why are you being so kind to me?,_ all lost at the top of his throat. 

Yuta snorts, like it’s all a bad joke. “If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve killed me.”

Doyoung is so taken aback by his statement that he can’t do anything but stare. Yuta was right, of course- if he wanted to kill him, he could’ve done it in a heartbeat, the minute he’d woken up on the living room sofa and found Yuta asleep and defenseless in his bed. He never, ever, _ever_ would have hurt Yuta, but he could have. And Yuta doesn’t know he wouldn’t.

 

Later that night, once Yuta is asleep, Ten ventures out of his bedroom for the first time all night, and plants himself squarely on both feet in front of where Doyoung was sitting on the sofa, petting Momo.

Doyoung recoils back slightly, unsure of Ten’s intentions, but the other man simply reaches out for his cat, scooping her into his arms like a baby and cradling her to his chest.

Doyoung watches with only the slightest tinge of jealousy, shifting slightly as Ten settles down on the sofa beside him. Their shoulders brush, and other than the loud rumble of Momo’s purr and what sounds like Yuta snoring mutely through the walls, it’s silent. Outside, a car ambles by, engine puttering gently.

“You fed from Yuta,” Ten finally says, voice gentle.

Doyoung doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods.

Ten makes a quiet noise of affirmation, threading his fingers through Momo’s fur. From this close, Doyoung can hear Ten’s heartbeat, and it’s surprisingly normal, considering the fact he was sitting thigh to thigh with a vampire.

“You owe him, I think,” Ten speaks again. Doyoung stares at him, but when he doesn’t say anything, Ten huffs impatiently. “You owe him your life. He saved you.”

“Oh,” Doyoung says, a little dumbly. He hadn’t really thought of that, but now that Ten had mentioned it, he supposes he really was in debt to Yuta. 

“He’s supposed to leave in three days,” Ten says conversationally. Momo lets out a little meow in his lap, as though she understood the words and was just as distraught at the idea of Yuta leaving as Doyoung was. He thinks Ten is, too, if the way his eyes turn glassy is any indication to go by. “What are you going to do?”

Doyoung turns to look at him, for the first time since he sat down. “What do you mean?” 

“Are you going to follow him? You’re in love with him, right?”

Doyoung flushes a bright red, and one of Ten’s eyebrows tick up. “Love,” Doyoung repeats, in a whisper, like it were a holy word.

“Yeah,” Ten murmurs. His eyes glitter in the dark, the only light in the room the moonlight and street lamps coming through the flimsy lace curtains. “Love.”

Doyoung doesn’t respond. He’s not sure what to say.

Maybe to fill the silence, or maybe just to speak his thoughts out loud, Ten pushes on. “Maybe it’s not love. Just infatuation, right now? I remember reading this medical journal on the chemical differences between love and infatuation in the brain and how it tricks you. But I don’t know if that would be the same for vampires. I mean, especially for something like soulmates, but that doesn’t even-”

Doyoung thinks if he had any of his own blood in his body, it would chill at Ten’s words. He cuts him off, sharply, with, “Soulmates?”

Ten looks like he’s bit his own tongue halfway through speaking, staring down at Momo and distracting himself with drawing patterns into her fur with his index finger. 

Doyoung has only ever heard about soulmates from Lena, over a century ago. He’d never spoken with other vampires about it, and he doesn’t think humans even _know_ about it. That it can happen between anyone, that it’s not just a vampire thing.

Only people who have soulmates seem to know about it.

“Ten,” Doyoung whispers, and his voice must’ve taken on a strange edge, because Ten’s whole body tenses up at his name. “What do you know about soulmates?”

After a moment, Ten looks at him. Or stares at him. It’s that same sharp, inquisitive look he’s been giving Doyoung all night, but this time, it’s more open. Honest. Raw, like Doyoung could reach right into Ten’s soul and pull out his most inner thoughts, open him up for everyone to see and expose his secrets.

It’s gone in seconds, when Momo meows and butts her head against Ten’s chest for attention and he breaks their gaze to glance down at her. The silence between them has shifted to something heavy and thick, tangible like it could be cut with a knife.

“Yuta lives in Insadong,” Ten finally says, his voice clear and to the point. He stands, depositing Momo on the couch in his place. “You should probably leave soon, if you want to be there when he arrives.”

Ten disappears into the hallway, the gentle padding of his footsteps fading the further away he gets. Doyoung is left sitting with his own thoughts, Momo purring beside him. His mind is blank, and it stays that way until he hears Ten and Yuta whispering through the walls in Yuta’s room. 

 _Yuta lives in Insadong,_ Ten’s voice echoes in his head.

With a gentle sigh and one last scratch of Momo’s chin, Doyoung gets to his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ten: embodiment of a cryptic gothic
> 
> i have a twt and cc if you'd like to follow me and talk about lilacism/menthea, or ask any questions! @_okoyik


	4. Chapter 4

Doyoung has been to China before.

Actually, he’s been there quite a few times. When he was chasing Lena, she kept looping between Shanghai and Moscow, and Doyoung had had to adapt and follow her for years. He had been through China so many times, in fact, that he spoke pretty decent Mandarin, and even a bit of Cantonese. That was neither here nor there, however; Doyoung spoke Korean, Russian, Japanese, French, and Ukrainian fluently. Mandarin was really nothing to him.

The walk through China is slow, and uneventful. Doyoung forgoes Mongolia and cuts right through China, and it’s only after a full day and a stop in Changchun that something actually happens.

It was so uncommon to see vampires in China that Doyoung had almost forgotten the country had any. More often than not, they were hidden in plain sight. And they were _very_ good at hiding. China’s laws were even stricter than Russia’s, on par with the United States’ _shoot first, ask questions later_ law on vampires. Last Doyoung had looked into it, China had a habit of catching, torturing, and publicly executing vampires as a show of power and warning to others. It was understandable that Doyoung was feeling on edge as he passes through.

It was not understandable, however, that he find a vampire who couldn’t have been a day older than eighteen feeding in an abandoned subway station at three in the morning in Changchun. 

There’s a long, heavy silence when the younger vampire spots him. They both stand so still it’s like they’re carved out of marble, and in the other vampire’s arms, the man he was feeding from lets out a pained, garbled noise in his dying throes. The vampire must be freshly turned, because the scene was messy, the human’s throat torn open and blood pooling around them, staining the vampire’s fingertips and chin. 

“Hello,” Doyoung finally says, in Mandarin, voice quiet. He flashes his own fangs, as a sign of alliance, and the younger vampire visibly sags with relief, although he still holds a tense nervousness in his shoulders, like he’s ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. “You’ve made quite a mess, little one.”

The vampire boy clings to the human’s body like it might protect him when Doyoung steps forward, face twisting into what looks to be an attempt at a sneer, although the sheer terror in his eyes cancels any aggressiveness out. Doyoung feels a painful twist of pity in his chest; this poor boy must be so scared.

“What’s your name?” Doyoung asks, stopping when he’s only a few feet away from the boy, the pools of blood just barely reaching the toe of his boots. He squats down so he’s eye level with him. He reaches out, and the boy jerks, but Doyoung simply swipes his index finger along the human’s throat before raising it to his own mouth and sucking off the blood. His mouth twists; it’s sour and bitter, like the man was very sick or dying before the boy had gotten to him. An easy kill, but the blood wouldn’t be enough to sustain a freshly turned vampire. “Oh, that’s vile.”

The boy doesn’t answer him, still looking wary, so Doyoung continues, “My name is Doyoung. Are you still hungry?”

The boy nods, slowly. His pupils are blown out wide, and he looks like he’s panting, trying his best to keep himself under control. That pity pangs at Doyoung’s heart again. He licks his thumb and reaches out again, gently this time, so he can wipe at the smears of blood on the boy’s cheeks.

“Are you scared, little one?” Doyoung whispers. “When were you bitten?”

The boy sniffles like he might cry, and when he does speak his voice sounds cracked and raw from disuse. “Last week.”

Doyoung has to stop his vision from turning red with anger. This boy was exactly that; a _boy._ He was only a child, and he had been thrust into this neverending version of hell without consent. Did he have a family? Was his mother worried about him? Had he been turned by someone he trusted, like Doyoung, only to be left to rot in the cold streets? 

“Put him down,” Doyoung murmurs. He rises to his feet, holds his hand out for the boy to take. “I’ll find you someone healthy to feed from.”

The boy looks between Doyoung’s hand and his face for a few seconds, like he’s not sure if this is some sort of joke. Doyoung patiently waits with his hand out, waits until the boy finally drops the man in his arms and interlocks their fingers. He rises to his feet, and he’s much smaller than Doyoung, only reaching his shoulder, body thin and fragile. 

As Doyoung leads the boy up the stairs and out of the station, the boy sniffles again, swallows like he’s trying to muster up the courage to speak. Doyoung waits for him to speak, patiently again.

“Chenle,” The boy manages to get out. “My name is Chenle.”

 

Doyoung helps Chenle track down a healthy human about halfway between Changchun and Kanggye. It’s a man, probably in his early thirties, a guard near the border of China and Korea. He’s tall and built strongly, definitely healthier than anything Chenle could catch on his own. Doyoung shows him how to take the man down, and he doesn’t miss the dazzled look in the boy’s eyes as if Doyoung’s skill at hunting was something to be impressed by, and not something terrifying. He also doesn’t miss the gratefulness in Chenle’s eyes when he finally feeds. It makes something twist in Doyoung’s chest again, a strange, overpowering urge to protect the boy, as well as a bitterness seeping through his veins that the boy has someone to show him how to exist as this type of monster. A luxury Doyoung never had.

Halfway through feeding, Chenle looks up at him from where he’s latched to the man’s neck, eyes sparkling and face flushed and glowing with color that’s returned to his cheeks, and asks Doyoung, “Don’t you want some?”

Doyoung thinks of Yuta’s blood still running through his veins, of how sweet and _right_ it had felt, and almost feels sick at the idea of tainting it with someone else's. Besides, he’s been alive much longer than Chenle- he can go weeks without blood if needed. 

He shakes his head, gesturing to the man. “It’s your meal,” He says, and he can’t help but smile at the gleeful look the boy gives him before tucking back in.

Chenle insists on following him into Korea, and Doyoung can’t be angry at him for it. He understands the desperation the boy must be feeling, the grief at leaving his old life behind and the overwhelming panic at trying to find someone, anyone new to connect with. Doyoung lets the boy hold his hand as they travel, and when Doyoung sharply turns their direction towards the northeast, the boy doesn’t question it.

They arrive in Rason a day later, and it’s quiet. The wind is whipping up something fierce, the salty breeze from the ocean and the heavy scent of the fish market carrying along with it. Doyoung closes his eyes and thinks about when he was a child and he went to the market with his mother. He remembers the soft cotton of her clothing, the way she carried his sister gently in her arms and had Doyoung carry all of their purchases in a sack across his body. He remembers stopping at each stall to greet neighbors and friends, remembers the old women at the fruit stand who would always pinch his cheeks and coo over his sister. He remembers the man who would slide him sweets behind his mother’s back, ruffle his hair and tell him to stay safe.

“Do you know this place?” Chenle suddenly asks, voice soft and carrying with the wind as well, speaking for the first time since he fed. Doyoung opens his eyes slowly, takes in the view of Rason from the hill they stand on. The buildings are all bleak and modern, an icy sort of shadow cast over the city.

“Not anymore, little one,” Doyoung says, hating the sadness that bleeds into his words. “Not like this.”

Chenle doesn’t say anything else. His hand, small and precious in Doyoung’s own, grips just the tiniest bit harder. Doyoung pulls him along, follows the streets by memory, hoping they were close enough to what he remembers that they’d lead him where he needs to go.

It’s difficult, navigating the ghost of a city he once knew. There are new buildings and cars and people in the way, new signs and streets where his memories sit. On the street where the market was, he finds a dreary looking building with flags hung up in it’s doorway. On the corner where his home was, he finds a playground full of children, fenced in and attached to a school.

They stand there, behind the fence, for a very long time. Doyoung watches the children play, full of laughter and boisterous energy even in the bitter cold. Watches a handful of little girls play jump rope over the ground where his sister’s bedroom was, watches two boys argue over a hand game over the spot where his mother would make them meals in the morning.

Chenle squeezes his hand, and Doyoung is shaken from his reverie when the boy tilts his head inconspicuously at the armed guards standing near the entrance of the school.They’re eyeing the two of them suspiciously, and Doyoung realizes they must have been standing strangely still for two long, alerting the guards. Making them wonder if they were vampires.

Doyoung does not want to stick around to find out what the North Korean government's policy on vampires was. He shuffles the younger boy along quickly, and by the time the guards move from their post to check on them, possibly follow them, he and Chenle have already disappeared from the city.

 

When they reach Seoul, it’s crowded and ebullient, bright lights and huge swarms of people moving about their lives. Chenle looks a bit overwhelmed, and Doyoung pulls him along until they can find an alley, tuck themselves into the darkness and wait for the streets to empty. 

“You’re going to get hungry again, soon,” Doyoung says as the sun sets over the skyline, throwing the sky into deep hues of violet and pink. “You’ll need to feed.”

Chenle wraps his arms around Doyoung like he’s a lifeline, presses his cold nose into Doyoung’s even colder neck. Doyoung lets him, threads a hand through the boy’s hair and holds him gently with the other.

“I don’t want to,” Chenle whispers, and Doyoung’s heart twitches with sympathy.

“You’ll die, otherwise,” Doyoung says, and it sounds harsh, but he’s not quite sure how else to phrase it. They may both be monsters, but even monsters deserve to live, especially if they had no say in becoming one.

  
Chenle’s fingers tighten in his jacket, but he says nothing.

The sun sets fully, and the streets empty if only a little, people disappearing into their homes or bars to retreat from the even colder night air. The bright lights of the city make it difficult to hide even in the night, and Doyoung eventually pulls Chenle away, puts two hands on his cheeks and forces him to meet his gaze.

“Listen to me,” Doyoung begins. Chenle’s eyes are big and wet, and he looks at Doyoung like he’s something to be revered, a sort of angel in disguise that may save him from this living hell. Doyoung wishes he could be that for him, but he can’t even save himself. “You’re going to need to feed within the next two days. You can’t do it here, it’s too crowded. You need to move south, somewhere smaller.”

Chenle’s fingers curl into the sleeve of Doyoung’s jacket. “You’re not coming with me?” 

Doyoung’s heart tugs in one direction, for Chenle, but a moment later it tugs viciously in the other, for Yuta. He shakes his head. “No, little one. I can’t come with you.” 

Chenle looks like he wants to say something else, but instead he steels his face and nods. They part in different directions, and Doyoung hopes Chenle lives long enough for them to meet again.

 

It’s easy to find Yuta’s home. Doyoung goes to Insadong, where Ten said Yuta lived, and once he’s in the district he can almost immediately pick up the faded, stale scent of the man. He follows it like a trail to an apartment building, slips in through the door when someone leaves and traces the scent to the sixth floor, apartment 613.

And he waits. It might be hours, but he waits, and waits, standing by Yuta’s door like guard dog, on alert.

When he catches scent of Yuta- a fresh scent, like he’s here, in the building- Doyoung barely has a moment to turn in the direction of the elevator before it opens, hearing Yuta’s voice. Yuta stands there, between two men Doyoung doesn’t recognize. He looks pale and shaken, and when he glances up and sees Doyoung, his face goes white.

“Doyoung,” He whispers. If Doyoung had a heartbeat, it would pound in his chest. Yuta promptly collapses in the men’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for being patient, i've been so busy with uni it's difficult to find time to write ;; chenle is an important character and will return later, thank you


End file.
